


A Sense of Stability

by keyboardclicks



Category: Maurice (1987), Maurice - E. M. Forster
Genre: Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Gen, Maurice and Alec are only mentioned they don't actually show up, Photographs, clive has a very narrow worldview
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 01:40:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14250324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyboardclicks/pseuds/keyboardclicks
Summary: Clive sees a photograph in the paper, and for ten minutes or so it sets his world a bit off-kilter.





	A Sense of Stability

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Happier Year (Near About)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5114666) by [Kimbeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimbeen/pseuds/Kimbeen). 



> Chapter 23 of Kimbeen's fic was incredible in many ways, but I was struck by the idea of Clive seeing Maurice and Alec's wedding photo that Violet had posted to the paper.
> 
> Poor Clive, if only he knew how wrong he was about pretty much everything.

He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

Well, perhaps ‘believe’ was a bit of a strong word; it would be more accurate to say that he didn’t  _ understand  _ what he was seeing.  It was quite plainly there in front of him, printed in clear black and white on the mid-left of the newspaper page; there was no denying that.  But it’s implications… what it  _ meant… _ that was what Clive simply couldn’t wrap his head around.

It was not even a particularly striking photo; it shouldn’t have startled him so.  Had he not so instantly recognized one of the faces smiling up at him, he doubted it would have even caught his attention.

Clive set down his coffee and straightened the page of the newspaper, thinking that it could easily be a case of mistaken identity, and and smoothing out any little wrinkles or folds would do the trick.  However, it did nothing. In fact, along with the first familiar face Clive now recognized a second: first, there was the wide, bright smile of Maurice hall, and beside him, pressed flush against his side, was Alec Scudder.  He was not in the uniform of a working man, as Clive had last seen him, but in a well-tailored suit of some dark color not dissimilar to the one on Maurice. Were it not for the fact that he knew better, Clive could easily have assumed them to be of the same class.

His gaze flicked to the caption: Annual Summer Mixer of the East-End Branch of the London Rotary Club.  This only confused him further.

“What on Earth..?” he mumbled, though only to himself as he was at present alone in the room.  This was decidedly a good thing, as if Anne saw the furrow in his brow she would worry the way she always did, and perhaps want to see the picture for herself.  Although unlikely recognize Scudder, she had known Maurice well enough during his stays at Penge to pick his face out of a crowd. The entire subject was a pot that need not be stirred, especially given her current condition.

He looked back to the picture with a critical eye, seeing if there was any other information to be parsed.  Maurice and Scudder were hardly alone in the photo, he noticed after the initial shock of seeing his old friend’s face had worn off.  Each of them had a woman on their side, Scudder on his right, Maurice his left, and each was smiling. Behind them, standing atop a chaise lounge, were two men and a woman.  Wait, no- two women and a man? The girl on the left, leaning her elbow on Scudder’s shoulder, was dressed in a suit but her dark hair had begun to fall out from under her hat, giving away its length.  Looking closely at her face, Clive thought that perhaps he recognized her, but when a name did not come to him after so many seconds of looking he dismissed the idea.

Hooked on that girl’s free arm was a man of ostentatious dress, who was kissing the cheek of the woman whose arms were wrapped around Maurice’s shoulders, her chin resting on his head.  Then, down in front, were two men wearing large women’s hats and sashes which proudly read VOTES FOR WOMEN in bold, dark lettering. One had unruly hair of some mid-toned color and far too many freckles, the other had a bright face and dimpled smile.  Each struck a ridiculous pose, only made sillier by the sashes and hats, on their knees with wide grins of laughter. 

Despite all of this chaos, it seemed undeniable that Maurice and Scudder were the center of attention.  Clive reasoned that it only seemed so to him because they were the two he recognized, but could not quite convince himself of it.  The movement of all the others seemed to center around them; on the arms not around one another’s shoulders they each had a woman, then another leaning on them from above.  Even the men on the floor, by their postures, seemed to be indicating one’s eye immediately to the happy smiles in center frame.

And they were very happy smiles, indeed.

Closing his eyes, Clive sighed and leaned back in his chair.  When had Maurice last smiled like that? It was impossible to pinpoint an exact day, so he thought of places instead.  At Penge, perhaps? In the years of his friendship after Maurice’s expulsion and his own graduation? That seemed likely.  He often smiled when they were alone together, particularly in their London flat, sharing a bottle of whisky or scotch. But still, that wasn’t quite it.

In college, then?  Yes, that seemed right.  In college, during the very earliest days of their friendship.  He had been quite happy then, not during lectures or while studying as Maurice was  _ horrendously  _ unacademic, but during late evenings with a fireplace or a pianola.  Clear, breezy days with a motorbike and an unfamiliar road stretching before them, endless in its possibilities.

Clive shook his head and took a sip of coffee, letting the bitterness run over his tongue and down his throat.  He rolled the stiffness from his neck and looked back at the paper.

Who  _ were  _ these people surrounding him?  Were they friends? In all the thinking Clive had done about Maurice’s life in the past year-where was he, what was he doing, etc-he hadn’t especially considered him having friends.  It seemed only logical to him that the kind of life he had gone on to lead, prioritizing Scudder over all other things and giving up his entire life just to indulge in a  _ perversion _ , didn’t preclude much socialization or friend-making.  It was a necessarily solitary life when one was that way, for the fclose friendship of any other person brought with it the danger of their finding out, and of reporting to the police.  Even if these were somehow people Maurice considered friends, there was no possible way they knew about the extent of he and Scudder’s relationship.

And yet he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that they  _ did. _  It was as if those pairs of eyes staring at the camera, in all their clear joy for whatever event was taking place, were saying the same thing: “we know something you don’t.”

Except that he  _ did  _ know.  He was, in all likelihood, the only person who would see this photo and understand its truth, that the two men in the center, although arm-in-arm with women each, were unspeakables of the worst kind.

...Oh but this was ridiculous; he almost had to laugh!  He was being so silly, analyzing a simple photo to such lengths.  It was best to take it at face value! They were at a gathering of some kind, whether or not it was indeed a branch of the Rotary Club was irrelevant, and Maurice and Scudder simply happened to be put in center frame.  Those surrounding them were, perhaps, friends or acquaintances in some regard, but of course had no idea of the pair’s true nature. And though the group was a bit queer, the woman in man’s clothing and the men with bonnetts and sashes, it was nothing unheard of for a bit of fun at a party, and simply pointed to a group of people eclectic tastes and slightly questionable morals.  Overall, though perfectly harmless, nothing more to it than that. Clive mentally patted himself on the shoulder for this parsing and sturdy maintenance of his worldview. He turned the page of the paper and began reading about the stocks with mild interest, finishing his coffee while it still remained hot.

What a shame, he thought, that Maurice should never again know true friendship like they had.  That he would have to live the remainder of his days in the dark because he simply refused to see reason, refused to mature past his impulses.

Truly a pity.


End file.
